


broken rules

by Dragon_and_Direwolf, Magali_Dragon



Series: one shots and other drabbles [13]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 100 Tumblr Prompts, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, F/M, How it should have been, Jon Snow Knows Something, One Shot, POV Jon Snow, Romantic Fluff, Soft Daenerys, Soft Jon Snow, Targlings (ASoIaF), Tumblr Prompt, baaaaabieeeessss, season eight did not exist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:14:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23315212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_and_Direwolf/pseuds/Dragon_and_Direwolf, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magali_Dragon/pseuds/Magali_Dragon
Summary: Jon Snow contemplates how he broke all the rules.Tumblr 100 Prompts Drabbles:#36. "I broke all my rules for you.**See Chapter 2 for a beautiful Jonerys fan art accompanying this fic!****Moodboard added to Chapter 1**
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: one shots and other drabbles [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1567705
Comments: 57
Kudos: 583





	1. broken rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some rules are meant to be broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Using the Tumblr dialogue prompts to help me come up with one-shots during my quarantine/isolation and have some fluffy one-shots (in between teleworking and cleaning my house and reading alllll the books).
> 
> This one I feel like I may have written before-- at least a scene or something like it, but oh well. Enjoy :)

  
There was something incredibly relaxing about just _sitting._ Preferably before an open window or set of doors. Even better if there was a view of a sunset, sunrise, or other natural wonder. Combine them and it would be _bliss._ Not that he had ever had much opportunity in his life to ever really _sit._ Let alone savor a natural beauty, like the way the sun rose above the horizon, its red glow over the sea sending the normally azure waves into black rolling thunder across the ashy beach. Sounds of the wind whispering through the various crevices and cracks of the castle walls and the crashing anger of the sea against the jagged cliffs.

He never noticed the sun much before, not until things faded away, until he finally just _stopped._ Stopped thinking of the next horror, danger, or task at hand. Stopped caring about the expectations of those around him. Stopped feeling like he constantly had to be another person, to make up for his birth, always on edge and eyes sweeping over every one and ears twitching at the barest of slights, tongue at the ready to lash out, to find a way to justify that he was _not_ whatever they claimed him to be. There was always something weighing on him, whether it be an enormous fur to stay warm in the biting cold that made him question if he was dead or alive most nights, or the responsibilities of caring for people who probably didn’t deserve his care.

He’d once taken a moment to look at the sunrise. Atop the Wall. He’d been there before, gazed over to the wasteland on one side and the well, the wasteland on the other. Just because one claimed to be better than the other because it belonged to a realm and was ruled by a single king didn’t mean fucking shit. He’d learned that the hard way. He had been a different man then. He’d broken rules, all in the name of duty, of course. He’d paid for that, as he’d lost at the time, the only woman he had thought he could love. But did he love her? Or was he just playing her? He’d been sad when she died, he had mourned her, but he couldn’t do it for too long, because there was another threat to face. He mourned that he hadn’t had a chance to show her that it wasn’t all fake. It wasn’t just a feeble attempt to distract her from the fact she was bleeding out in his arms. Even she saw through that. Was that love? He wasn’t sure anymore.

Because he felt love once more, a surprise to be sure, and at the time there hadn’t been a rigid set of rules dictating how he lived his life. He was free to take a wife, hold lands, have sons, to serve a king. Fuck, he could _be_ a king. And he had been. And he wasn’t sure if what he felt was really love. It didn’t feel like how it had before. It was faster, harder, more violent. He didn’t think he could breathe in her presence. He found himself wondering just what exactly he would give up for the woman. A woman who positively fucking _infuriated_ him. Interested him, had him wondering just who she was, this tiny little thing who commanded armies, spoke in foreign tongues, wore trousers, and rode dragons. He didn’t even think at the time that she could literally break chains and walk through fire.

He created a set of rules to live by after his watch ended. After he suddenly had everything available to him, he’d never had before. Men following him, believing in him, a title and lands, and at the time—though he didn’t know it—a _name._

It was warm that morning. He was used to endless winter, endless cold, even during the summer in the North. That was what he’d said to Edd, when he came back to life, when he didn’t have a purpose. _Go South, get warm_ , he had said. Just a joke to Edd, but to him it was the truth. It was what he planned to do. Ultimately, he did. Took him a bit longer to do it, but he did.

The sun’s rays made him feel whole. He was born in the South, after all, in Dorne. Maybe he had always been trying to get back there. His blood might have howled like a wolf, but it also sang like a dragon. He rocked slowly back in the chair, his ankles crossed, feet bare. He would have been practically nude in the North, in only his thin linen tunic and his trousers, no boots or thick socks or wools or furs. He sighed, peering down at the comfortable weight in his arms, studying the face gazing curiously up at him.

He smiled, eyes crinkling; he thought perhaps the permanent frown and brooding lines of his face might have been fading, or else moving a bit south to the corners of his eyes. He smiled far more than he ever had in his life. He ran his fingertip over the tiny little nose, tapping down to the pert pink bow atop the child’s lips. She screwed up her face, no doubt wondering what he was doing.

Every morning they did this. He would gather her up before she began to cry, carrying her to the chair on the balcony overlooking the small beach and the winding stairs leading to the main entrance of the castle, where he had first set foot on the island that would become his home. One of the little hands escaped the bindings of the fur wrapped around the small body, smacking at his hand. He chuckled.

“I broke all my rules for you.”

Every single one of them.

The oath may no longer have applied, but he adopted them in a strange way. He would take no wife—even if Sam did say it didn’t mean celibacy—he would keep that one, since women were just distractions and he couldn’t be distracted. He would father no sons—since he still held the name _Snow_ despite his title. He might have been a king, he might have held lands, but they were not his, not really, so he would leave the true administration to a real Stark, because he was not a Stark. _Oh how true that really was._. He would hold that crown, but he would not wear a crown. He would not fight for glory, he would fight to protect, never to be a hero.

He would live and die in service to his family, in service to his people, and in a way he did.

Until she came along.

Until a tiny goddess who called herself the Mother of Dragons walked down a set of dragonglass steps to come face to face with him. He had been stunned, not realizing how gorgeous she was, or how _young._ They were a year apart, he later learned, although she behaved far wiser and older, a result from all the trauma and hardships she had survived. She had the same silver hair as Aemon, but her eyes were the most astounding shade of violet, like jewels, whereas Aemon’s violet eyes had faded white with his blindness.

And he broke all his rules.

He took a wife—he bedded her because he _wanted_ to and because he wanted to _feel good._ Which he certainly had. So had she, he made sure of it. Later he did marry her, beneath the stars at Winterfell’s hearttree.

He wore a crown—a real one made of iron and bronze, with a dragon and a wolf twisting together.

He held lands—he ruled as the King in the North and he held Dragonstone in the name of the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. He lived in the Red Keep, or what amounted to it after wildfire destroyed most of it.

He won glory—they called him the Hero of the Dawn, for slaying the Night King. They called him the White Wolf, for all his other accomplishments at the Wall. The Free Folk called him a fucking _god._

He had not died for his family, but he had changed the terms. He would die in service for his people, as their king, but when it came to it, he would die for those who deserved it and he had seen in how his sister had behaved that she really didn’t deserve it. He broke that rule because Sansa Stark no longer needed his service, neither did Arya or Bran. They could take care of themselves. Others needed him.

And seven fucking hells, Aemon was right.

_There was no greater feeling than holding your child in your arms._

“I broke all my rules for you,” he repeated, smiling down again at his little girl. Her hair was as dark as his, curling in little swirls around her head, but there was a single silver curl that never darkened, just over her forehead. Her eyes weren’t amethyst like her mother, but a deep indigo, flashing occasionally like Valyrian steel. The only person who had ever had eyes like that, according to the last living person who had met him—Howland Reed—was Rhaegar Targaryen.

Every single morning since he first woke and realized that he actually had a child—a living human who shared his blood, he came out here with her to actually sit and savor. He might have things to worry about, meetings with the council, long travels too distant reaches of the realm, and the occasional skirmish that required Longclaw—or climbing atop Rhaegal. Except he also had other things to think about. Like the little girl who was trying to eat his finger. Every single rule broken, to get her, and he did not feel a damn bit sorry for it. In fact, he did not understand why he had been so adamant against breaking the rules in the first place. “What’re we going to do today, huh?” he asked, reaching into the furs to tickle at her feet, which kicked out like a mule, a sound bubbling up, the loveliest little baby giggle.

She had begun doing it recently, her first one coming after Ghost had licked her face, when she tried to pull on his ear. Now it seemed his entire mission in life was keep hearing it, doing everything he could to make her laugh. He rocked back in the chair again, lifting her up a bit more, the fur falling to his knees and her little limbs punching and kicking, the laugh sounding louder. He lowered her down to his face, pursing his lips in a kiss, her hands smacking onto his cheeks, babbling away.

“I love you,” he mouthed to her.

He’d fallen in love with her the moment she came into the world. If it were possible, he fell in love with her mother even more, staring in a curious mix of fascination, horror, and absolute pride as he watched her little body labor for hours, amazed at what it could do, bringing another person into the world. No wonder men didn’t want to be in the room to see it, because then they’d bear witness to the fact that women were undoubtably stronger, he had thought. Of course, he was never going to be anywhere else but at her side, holding her hand—even if she broke his thumb in the process.

His daughter giggled again, patting at his face. He lowered her back, bouncing her feet on his knees, wondering when she would be walking. He didn’t want her to age too quickly. She lifted her feet up and down, stamping on his knees. “And what now?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows. “What’re you gonna’ do now?”

“That Northern accent of yours gets thicker whenever you’re with her.”

The soft voice over his shoulder had him turning, smiling up at his wife, queen, lover, mother of his child, all the right things in the world, he thought. He smiled at her. “You think?”

“I don’t think, I know,” she laughed, leaning over the top of the chair to grin at their daughter, tickling at the fat baby cheeks. She dropped her arms around his neck, fingers lightly skimming over the open ties of his tunic neck. Her lips fluttered over his cheek, kissing softly. “She hungry?”

“I don’t know.” He lifted up the baby, bouncing her in the air, more giggles filling the morning air. “You hungry?”

All she did was laugh more, but reached one hand towards her mother, so he let her go—reluctantly—for her morning feeding. At least they were sleeping the entire night without having to wake up for her. He made sure to wake up too, since Dany had done so much already. She was the one who grew the baby inside of her, birthed her, and had to be up whenever it was time to feed. The least he could do was stay awake with her.

Maybe that’s why he liked his morning time with little Rhaella. It was just the two of them, where he could talk to her, listen to her little giggles and grunts and other sounds. Think about things. _Brooding_ , perhaps one might still call it, but his thoughts were never consumed with the crushing worries they had been before. He still worried, but it was more about making sure he could keep the world good and stable for his daughter.

Or as it was this morning, just thinking about a sunrise and all that churned up inside of the endless recesses of his mind.

He reached up and she walked around the side of the chair, so she could lower herself into his lap, her knees draped over the other arm of it. He looped is arm around her back, as she reclined into him and lowered the strap of her silky night gown, Rhaella immediately reaching and grabbing, eagerly nursing. Her head fit perfectly into the crook of his neck. She dragged her fingertips over Rhaella’s soft curls. “What were you guys talking about this morning?” she asked.

“Oh just…nothing really.”

“Hmm, I heard you say something about rules.” She chuckled. “Don’t tell me she’s already breaking them, huh? I think we may have our hands full. Especially since I think she’ll be able to do whatever she wants, with you wrapped around her finger.”

He pretended to be affronted, but he also knew she was absolutely right. “She does not do whatever she wants.”

“Hmm, sure.”

“Well…maybe a bit.” He smiled sheepishly. He shook his head, looking into Rhaella’s little eyes, which were growing droopy as she nursed, one of her hands pressed against Dany’s breast and the other curling into the silk of her mother’s dress. He reached carefully for her free hand, which grabbed immediately to his, holding tight. He smiled again. “No, she hasn’t broken the rules yet. I did.”

“What rules are those?”

“All of the ones I had.”

Dany’s brow furrowed, confused. “Oh?”

“Hmm, I’ll tell you later.”

“Did not picture you as a rule breaker Jon Snow,” she chuckled, kissing the underside of his jaw. She settled back a bit more into his chest and he wrapped his arms tighter around them both. “Don’t tell me I married someone who doesn’t follow the _rules_?”

It was only teasing, but she had no idea just how close she was to the truth. He shook his head, murmuring, to himself really. “Just the ones I made.”

Dany frowned, but didn’t say anything. She knew he would tell her soon, at some point. He sighed, gazing back to the ocean. One of the dragons, probably Rhaegal, dove to the sea, before cutting up and flying back above the clouds. Drogon spun around Viserion, who appeared to be out for a meandering morning flight, trying to antagonize his little brother. He dragged his fingers up and down her bare arm, idly dragging patterns in her shoulder.

“What rules are you talking about, Jon?” she asked again.

He tore his gaze from the sun, now above the horizon and gaining steadily, meeting her curious look. He smiled. “My rules, the ones I made. To survive, I guess.”

“And was breaking them…good?”

He glanced at their daughter and around their room, before meeting her earnest look. He lowered his lips to hers, pressing a gentle kiss, murmuring: “Absolutely.”

Dany exhaled, relieved. “Oh…that’s good.”

“You have no idea.”

**fin.**


	2. rules are meant to be broke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I commissioned the insanely talented Dragon_and_Direwolf to create an art piece for this fic after the moodboard accompanying it on Tumblr last month (added to chapter 1) was so well received and she did not disappoint!!! Thank you so much! It is gorgeous! ❤️


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